


Joyeux Noel

by AzureProse



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Christmas nonsense, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureProse/pseuds/AzureProse
Summary: I blame a weather app, and a random conversation for this nonsense. That is all.





	Joyeux Noel

She should've guessed, really, that tonight was going to be _different_.

 

Marinette wasn't sure just how late it was, but the sun had set hours ago, and still she had no desire to go home. The night was clear, and aside from a brisk breeze toying with the ends of her hair and her ribbons, it was actually a pleasant night. The moon was full, and she decided that this was probably her favorite view of Paris. From her perch atop the Eiffel Tower, she had a breathtaking view of the city. Patrol had been surprisingly uneventful, and a small part of her wanted to believe that even Hawkmoth had decided to take a break.

 

It was Christmas, after all.

 

She felt him long before she heard him, and by the time she'd even noticed the sudden presence, her partner was already sitting beside her.

 

"I'm getting you another bell. This is ridiculous," she told him, turning to smile at him.

 

He was just watching her, luminous green eyes glowing like beacons behind his black mask, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You love it," he shot back, tilting his head at her.

 

Clearing her throat, she reached up and flicked the golden bell at his throat. It jingled obediently, and she found herself wondering if he was somehow able to control the sound. That seemed a little outlandish, but stranger things _had_ happened.

 

"I thought you were taking the night off," she point out instead.

 

"Couldn't sleep," Chat told her.

 

"And I-... ah, I got you something."

 

It was at that point that she realized he was cradling a small, hastily-wrapped box in his gloved hands. As if on cue, he held the little red-and-green-striped package out to her.

 

"I know you said not to. That we didn't have t-"

 

"I made you something, too," she countered, carefully taking the offered gift box from him with a warm smile.

 

It was true that she'd tried (again) to convince him that he wasn't obligated to give her gifts, but then she'd decided not to take her own advice. Admittedly, though, hers was more of a gag gift than anything. Alya was partially to blame. She'd let it slip a couple of weeks ago that she was at a loss for what to get her _work friend_ , for Christmas, and the saucy redhead had immediately launched into a tirade on the many reasons why Marinette needed to make this mystery person something.

 

She couldn't even remember _what_ had possessed her to knit the item in question. Perhaps it had been more of her best friend's influence. Or maybe it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, some unconscious need to try and fluster her partner the way he seemed to effortlessly manage with her nearly every time they were together. One would think that after five years of working together, she would've gotten used to it.

 

If anything, it had just gotten worse. Case in point, the way his sweet face was practically lit up like a Christmas tree. She'd always thought he was handsome, but when he smiled, it was like looking into the sun.

 

"It's probably not as nice as your gift," she started, trying not to get his hopes up.

 

And she was willing to bet that it was nothing like his gift.

 

"Nonsense, Bugaboo. Anything you want to give me is perfect~"

 

She didn't even have to look at him. She could _hear_ the smile in his voice.

 

In the interest of not dwelling on that smile, she turned her attention to the small box she was still holding. It looked like he'd been in a hurry, so she carefully dug a finger into one of the seams and tore at the paper. Her breath hitched in her throat when a small, dark blue box fell into her hand, and she stole a glance over at where he was sitting, watching her.

 

"Chat...?"

 

He was being oddly quiet, and it was unnerving.

 

"Just open it."

 

Moments later, she was letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when she cracked open the box to find a pair of earrings.

 

"Thank you, Chat. I love them," she told him, carefully looking over the ruby studs with little dangling golden bells. Her smile faltered when she realized that she wouldn't be able to wear them with her miraculous. Maybe she'd just have to get a double piercing. Yea. That would work.

 

"Anything for my Lady," he announced, and she shook her head at him.

 

"Is this one mine?"

 

Her eyes widened ever so slightly as she turned to look over at him. She'd almost forgotten about the green-and-silver striped gift she'd set off to the side. Thinking about it, she was actually a little surprised it had taken him so long to discover it.

 

"Yes. But-"

 

"What kind of scarf is this?" No sooner than she'd confirmed it as his, a clawed hand had made short work of the pretty paper. Now, he was holding the oblong-shaped swath of green, red and white, baby-soft yarn up in front of his face. He reached out and flicked the bell with a single claw, and tilted his head curiously, looking very much like his namesake in that moment.

 

"It's not a scarf," the polka-dotted heroine pointed out, turning about as red as her suit.

 

"Ooh?"

 

"It's a sweater..."

 

There was a moment of silence in which Marinette very much considered throwing herself from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Seconds stretched into minutes, and she sat very still. Waiting for ... _what_ , exactly?

 

"Little small, don't you think?"

 

She could feel heat spreading over her face, down her neck, up over her ears. Somehow, she worked up the courage to glance over at him, and he was just smirking at her.

 

"I like it," he announced.

 

She said nothing, choosing instead to nod and smile at him. A small part of her wanted to believe that he hadn't realized what he was holding, but somehow she doubted she was that lucky.

 

"You wanna _jingle my bell,_ Bugaboo?"

 

If it was possible, her face turned even redder, and she just stared at him, jaw agape.

 

This was a bad idea. Possibly even the worst idea she'd ever had. And of _course_ she should have been expecting him to react in such a way.

 

"Maybe if you're a good boy," she shot back, smiling inwardly at the sharp intake of breath, and feeling more than a little pleased as she watched the blush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck.


End file.
